The Result was a Storm
by N.T. Embe
Summary: Could these two enemies be reconciled? Could those around them really be so blind to the truth? Even stemming as far back as they knew each other...they could not have been, truly, enemies. An eternal friendship, pure in ways you couldn't imagine.


**Title:** The Result was a Storm

**Rating:** PG-13, for some… stuff.

**Theme:** Union

**Pairings/Characters:** Cloud and Tseng. Yes… you heard me right. Cloud and Tseng.

**Spoilers/Warnings:** I am working off of nothing new. Just reintroducing you to what has always been there that you may not have noticed.

**Time Period:** Post-AC, not any one time over another.

**Summary:** Chance has given them opportunity. But the choices they make have brought them together.

**Word Count: **7,777

**Dedication:** To **PorcupineCuty**, because she requested this. XD I finally got her onto liking Tseng! YES!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this pairing? HAHAHAHAHAHHA… yeah. Try and make me believe that.

**A/N:** I had sooo much fun and difficulty writing this. Cloud is slowly starting to become someone I can write as with a general amount of comfort, and Tseng… takes an unusual turn here. He's in a light that most people don't see him in or may think of him in. -Smiles- So I hope you enjoy this, yet again, non-canon fic. It has become one of the most important pairings in my heart. Perhaps this too, will show you a bit of the reasons why.

. . . . . . .

"How did you end up here?"

There was no memory of the seasons in the light that flickered in his eyes. Azure or ice, they were veiled by the same sundry mist cloaking the skies, gray with the presence of long-shed rain, only now paused to cast the earth in stillness. This dim, translucent light…it made the grass beneath his back thicker; it made the pines and spruces a hue darker—crisp emerald with a dusty dual-green of mosses and the pale streaking of the undersides of leaves. Deep above, lush below, a world of silence but for the brush of fauna against each other, the rustling of whispers of little life, and the trickle of occasional water, slipping off the canopies—broken by eyes of a storm either passed or waiting to come, and a voice held steady by the naturalness of a strength unused to failing. Half he wondered how he could have been found; half he wondered, why should it have been this man to stand above him now and gaze down from an impeccable face, framed by sable hair and set with a clear inscrutable look.

Curiosity entered the patient blue eyes, casting a slow play of light over their unmoving jeweled depths. The man standing above him did not miss their change. He, however, did not choose to answer the supine blonde's unspoken question. Instead, he turned to gaze past the trees and out over the dewed grasslands, his gaze calm and perpetual as the long spread of clouds overhead. Softly, as though revealing his thoughts to no audience but the wide expanse around him, the suited man's voice flowed from him, a breeze to be caught up in the branches.

"It is not often I expect to find a former enemy cast away and petrified on the very most western shores of his home continent."

No response was made by the blonde, and a faint certainty was his that told him the silent sentinel in black and white knew the other man had heard what he'd said, even if he did not respond in kind to the suited male. But Cloud's knowledge was shrouded, brought to his attention by the Turk's guided mention of events, for he could not remember how he had wound up gazing at the sky and treetops, under the keen eyes of a man with too much history. He did not ask, for the words he first heard when consciousness was again his floated back into mind. Then, tenuously at first, but soon insistently, a recollection of what had brought him to this moment stung the back of his mind. It took only a few seconds further to recognize the nuisance as the very real pain of a throbbing head wound, one he would have received in the crash. That was right…. The wolves…. The wolves would not have been a problem, or the storm—the storm that came too suddenly, too swiftly—but the Velcher Task…. The nest of Velcher Task, adults and offspring, as he hugged the foothills of the mountains….

He trailed off now that his memory had returned to him, and allowed his eyes to roam his surroundings for the first time, searching and eventually finding the intimate figure of Fenrir, scuffed by claw and tooth and tail. His mouth settled into a frown. He had not expected them to be such spiteful creatures. Yet the blame could not be all theirs. As though those injuries were not enough to the vehicle however, it was also caked over with filth of a type he didn't care to guess. The rain had done a little to wash it away, and though it looked in working order at a glance, Fenrir had been undeniably abused in his absence.

His absence. The thought was almost a query. His attention shifted back to the silent Turk, but was abruptly divided. Sitting up on an undetered urge to check what injuries he had sustained, he found himself well able to move and no bandages or splints to be seen, though a few tears in his clothes revealed some ailment had seemingly befallen him. Reaching up a hand to ghost over the back of his head, nothing but his hair—slightly damp—met his searching fingertips. Even the pain he had thought he'd felt as his memories easily returned had long since vanished. Pre-petrification sensations, he determined, his gaze moving to Tseng even as his thoughts remained on the Turk leader's words. Almost as though sensing where Cloud's mind had at last settled, the dark-haired man turned back to the blonde, former leader of Avalanche, his gaze simultaneously unassuming and expectant.

"What did you do?" The words were out of his mouth before he was consciously aware of them. Neither rushed with ire nor slowed with suspicion, Cloud realized belatedly that they were almost light, weighed only with the same curiosity that had played over his face when he had first regained consciousness and been greeted by the sight and sound of the Turk leader. The words he uttered were benign, filled with the simple realization that the man before him, looking back at him with a doctor's certainty and a comrade's lingering concern, was not an enemy.

"I used my Full Cure on you, after hunting for an inordinate amount of time through your things for a Soft." Tseng's brows lowered, creasing slightly towards the center as a minute flash of irritation crossed his normally unreadable features, intriguing Cloud. In the next moment, the brows eased upwards, and the countenance that still gazed at him relaxed into an unusual openness. It was in that moment that Cloud glimpsed the first of the words in the storm gray eyes, as the veil was drawn back and what the Turk did not say fell open across what he now realized was a quiet, enduring face. The surprise first in the starkness of his widened eyes; then coldness, of an absolute determination in the unmoving mask and a violent, steady gleam like lightning captured and held still by his will; the fading of that light at the end of a need for it, returning the look of a still-promised danger to the gaze in the very darkness that took its place; the frustration and worry in the creases between his brows, the downward pull of his lips; all above the amusement at himself held in the light glinting subtly beneath each of these emotions. In those steady, silent moments, he saw the dark haired man's capacity for each of these things, was drawn in by them, as completely as he could have and sometimes had been so many times in the years prior…. He had never tried to allow himself to, in the earlier ones. Now those eyes too were silent, except for a hushed whisper of some nameless meaning he could not decipher. He closed his eyes at last and shook his head lightly.

"Top-forward, left hand side," he said offhandedly, opening his eyes once more, knowing the information was no longer needed and yet unwilling not to provide it regardless. Then, almost accidentally, he noticed the faint narrowness of the Turk's gaze and recognized what it was he had been seeing all this time: it was pleasure.

"Thank you," came the genuinely courteous voice in response, a twinge of laughter to the evenness of the words. "Now I'll be doubly certain where to rummage next time I find your likeness cast in stone."

"What are you doing out here?" The query was almost a breath, involuntary as the subtle thoughts that guided it. Involuntary in contrast to the effort that went into the pull of Tseng's eyes from him, gazing back out across the plains and at last, to the mountains; to the tall, gradual peaks that obscured most of the sight of the fangs where the Nibel Range began. A breeze picked up in the prolonged moment, sweeping its full fingers through the black hair of the Turk and catching it up in motion. Almost imperceptibly, the unmoving man shivered. For the first time since waking, Cloud realized the Wutaian did not wear his jacket. Immediately, a hand dropped to his side, and the idle grasp of his fingers met cloth instead of grass. In the next instance, the stillness was broken as Tseng turned his head back to him, his voice quiet, but guiltless.

"Preparing a better future."

In the shocked stillness…those words could have been poison…could have been malice…could have had the undisguisable twinge of death in them. Yet that was not, he thought, what sent a streaking, abrupt chill through his flesh. He had begun softly to ask, "What do you mean?" when he was greeted with the almost tender closing of Tseng's eyes, the Turk's head inclining in quiet penance for too many things Cloud could name far too swiftly, but would keep likewise unsaid. His question still hung delicately in the air, a tenuous thread that could serve to whip its utterer or, he was faintly aware of desiring, establish a connection he could maintain. The next words Tseng spoke were like those out of a dream, never thought to be heard, never fathomed to exist with that great of a fortitude to back them, to assure the listener of their reality and dash all suppositions that an alternate interpretation could even stand up to them.

"I do not believe in the W.R.O. Therefore, I plan to have another system established, ready to take its place, once it has run its course." Those eyes of the storm were unclouded gray. No more a hint or essence of amusement, of any kind of humor, etched the face above him. It was somber with a duty borne by one man alone.

"Does Rufus Shinra know?" His own question surprised him. He had meant to ask, 'Is Rufus Shinra involved?' Late again, he found his instincts overruling what predetermined knowledge said had to be the case. But what did others' prejudices have to do with what he knew to be right, where others still murmured, 'Wrong…'? He had followed his own mind, his own beliefs, to this moment. His eyes alive with interest, their silent blue of medditerrainean oceans shimmering with feeling—the knowledge that he was on the right path. Knowledge rewarded with the careful gaze of silver-gray and a faint inclination of the dark-maned head in acknowledgement.

"It was the Turks who destroyed Shin-Ra." The fact, spoken so simply, jolted almost like muted pain through the blonde. His lips parted for a faint breath, stunned awe and gentle surprise, more to hear it put that way than because it was an unexpected thought. It would have been like them to have given the finishing blows to a struggling, long decaying and now decapitated monstrosity. It must have been a mercy killing, he thought, his face composed again as he gazed back at Tseng's steady look. "He is under our care, merely because we have chosen to follow him. Rufus knows my thoughts—as far as I have made them known—but the extent of his involvement begins and finishes on a solely monetary end, and then only if I cannot make due on my own."

"I see." The words were quiet. The understanding—near complete. "What about the others?" After a pause, he went ahead and added, "What's the Turk leader without his Turks?"

A faint smile tugged at Tseng's lips and Cloud noted that this was the first time he had seen an expression of warmth on the other man's face throughout their entire encounter, kept longer than they knew by only the tale of the dwindling light where before pale gray had spread. Now, it was vividly darker, and a taste of night came on the chill winds that had not ceased since they first tousled the Turk's black hair. In the overcast weather, he was finding it difficult to be certain of the hour anymore, knowing only it had been early to mid-afternoon when the storm had hit. Almost belatedly, a soft sound Cloud could have mistaken for a laugh escaped the Turk's mouth, accompanied by the self-admonishing shake of the other man's head.

"It doesn't change over time, or place; alone, or otherwise." The solemn, provocative eyes that gazed down at Cloud again were filled to brimming with an emotion of elusive reconciliation. With a muted flicker of recognition echoing in his own eyes, tugging their lids lower in understanding, Cloud saw the full, unblemished gleam of hardened, secure pride in the very essence of the Turk's gaze. 'We never stop being who we are,' those gray depths professed, and the smile on the Wutaian's lips seemed suddenly the more beautiful. "We don't need each other. We _choose_ each other. I am working wholly alone, Cloud."

His name brought him back to the present. It had taken him a moment to realize that the last words the Leader of the Turks had said were indeed out loud, his look itself had spoken expressively enough to forego the necessity of speaking. But the soft voice had swept out into the open, and with the same flawless ease as he switched between the verbal and visual means, for the first time now, Tseng's body moved towards him. It was like watching a distant, silent creature, still in its careful gazing—poised as the lone pinnacle of its lands—suddenly shift, and give a sign of life. The slight flicker of hair in the wind reassuring it was not stone, the effortless slow sweep of a regal head across the muted realm—all wonderful.

Fingers fell with a hand into one of the Turk's pockets as Cloud watched, tensing just slightly as Tseng took long, casual steps towards him, demolishing the distance with a purpose, bending one knee elegantly to the ground as he stopped at the blonde's left side. In silence again, the gray eyes tracing delicately over the skin of his former 'enemy's' arm, the Turk's free limb lifted and the back of a hand smoothed over the upper part of the exposed skin. Expert with gentleness, the hand turned over, gripping the upper arm securely, his touch tender. Cloud shifted his eyes from where Tseng's presence was indelibly close, fewer than several inches separating them at most, to the Turk's face. No question rose in his glance, and Tseng did not meet it. He was patient. When Tseng's left hand lifted from out of his pocket, the first sign of a blush of life in the dull, washed out landscape caught the blonde's eyes…in a thin, fluttering strand of pink. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place. The Leader of the Turks gently placed the Ribbon against Cloud's arm, meeting it with his other hand and wrapping the accessory around its natural place, from which it had been missing. This then, was why he had fallen prey to the local monsters' petrification abilities; why he had needed Tseng's help at all. "A smaller one had gotten a hold of your arm, and snagged it off of you," the Turk uttered lowly, his voice soft and sure as his hands as they tied off the pink cloth so that it would not come loose as easily again.

The former Avalanche leader's eyes had followed from the Turk's hand to his arm. Now they returned and remained steadily upon the unaffected gray gaze of the other man's eyes. "Why did you tell me those things?" he asked quietly, the whisper of uncertainty in his mind not coming through in his voice or his face. The Turk had dropped his hands, but his eyes had no intention of turning as swiftly from his simple, completed task. Nor, apparently, of meeting his persistent blue gaze just yet, as Cloud could tell in their idle path upwards, focusing on the distant hills rather than on the blonde's quiet, waiting face. "You don't want my help." It was a statement. Cloud already knew the answer when he said it.

The cool, unchanging eyes did not move from the distance, yet Cloud had the distinct feeling in that moment that the man beside him was even more intimately aware of him now than he had been while tying the Ribbon back onto his arm. "No," the voice admitted after a moment, steady and without hint towards any possible answer. Then, abruptly and almost too faintly, the clear words were murmured, more to himself than to Cloud. "Only you."

. . . . . . .

"There was never any hatred between us."

Some did not handle the statement so well. Every moment, every interference, every vicious and merciless act they had committed counted against them. Some outright spat in their faces with biting words. Others, conflicted by the knowledge of their past and the vivid remembrance of the last couple of years, could not find a steady ground to base their opinions on. Their looks were ones of leering or dubious glares, some of torn, pained bewilderment. One of the girls was outright annoyed, growing fast impatient with the presence of the lawless blue, now adorned in black before them: the former Dogs of Shin-Ra, the Turks. She had other things already on her mind and figured if the Turkeys wanted to play nice, she had no objection against that. They were still fair game for _other_ things after all…. The other, older woman clearly did not and would not believe a word they said, regardless of truth or fiction. It was clear however that these were the only two out of the group who held such distinct beliefs. All the others had their own thoughts on the face-to-face, but kept them—for the most part—better confined.

Their meeting was not by chance. Nor were their purposes contrary. The remnants of Jenova's offspring were vanquished. The healing rains no longer fell by this late hour, clearing to reveal to the dank city the rosy, gilded warmth of an intimate sunset that met the face of every building, flooded streets with light, and grazed the inhabitants with its tender, full embrace. The mirage of Sephiroth had fled the skies, and before the church belonging to the flowergirl they each knew, three of the Turks stood. Elena had not come, remaining with Rufus Shinra and missing their voluntary, casual meeting with the group of people once incorrectly called "Avalanche."

"Can't hate someone who can hand yer ass ta ya." The playful, noncommittal tone revealed the good nature of the redhead's comment.

"Not in this case," the even, correcting voice of Rude added on as the man exchanged a glance with Reno.

"Psychotic bastards don't count!" the other swiftly and easily countered, grinning.

"We're not evading or shirking the responsibility placed on us by our choices and actions." The steadiness of the voice that had first spoken quelled the other two Turks with a naturalness that rivaled breathing. They were not stifled, but rather stood in a silence only capable of carrying the greatest respect. Reno's confident mouth still maintained the partial smirk. Rude's quiet was characterized by only the faint lift of his chin. They ceased speaking for the simple reason that they trusted their third companion to say nothing they did not believe or stood for, and to say everything they did. "I, especially, never did a single thing without knowing the full consequences of my actions."

"We did our jobs," Reno calmly said, the smirk gone, speaking with complete knowledge of his words.

"Until they couldn't be done anymore," Rude added evenly, on the exact page as his partner.

"Until we could not do them, because again, we were forced to destroy every shred of virtue we kept within us. Like the era beyond three years ago now, we found ourselves loathed, and this time, not by men we could fight against with our hearts kept whole, but by no one more intensely than ourselves. If you had reason to trust us years ago, you now had reason to turn on us as well. None of us hold it against you. We deserve every fragmented and whole emotion or article of blame, and we'll accept them standing."

When the third Turk finished speaking a quiet voice rose, and the faintly startled group around the speaker turned their heads or bodies completely to the blonde male. "You did all that you could. It was a great deal more than I could accept for some time. But even when your actions confused me, it was clear why you did them." In that instant, as vivid blue eyes met the gentle silver in the other man's face, the thoughts perpetually held in the countenance of the Leader of the Turks filled the former leader of Avalanche's with understanding.

It had been there with him throughout…everything, since the day he had regained his memories…since long beyond then. Even without the knowledge of why…he had never doubted their infamous enemies, for he knew their leader, and all he had done. 'Zack. You tried to save him. You protected him even before the end. Protected _me_. You tried to save me, to help us both. You did the same with Aeris, from the very beginning. It was your pain and fear I saw screaming through you that day on the helicopter. Even Sephiroth…. When we found you in the Temple of the Ancients…. It was for him and for us that you went there. That's why there are only four Turks now. You wanted to protect them, and you did. They left, free of Shin-Ra, free of blame and self-destruction. Even Rufus Shinra…. He's being taken care of because of you. And Reno, Rude, and Elena…. They'll stay with him and with you. You won't leave them alone, and you won't leave them behind. You can't, because…you already lost everyone.'

"I never held it against you. I'm not going to start now."

It was like silver rain, watching Tseng's eyes fill with an indistinguishable, steady emotion.

. . . . . . .

"However," the Turk's voice continued in its normal, low tone. Etched with caring and then hidden once more behind that inscrutable veil, Tseng's eyes turned at last upon the blonde, revealing only what he allowed them to. "It was never my way to take anything I wanted by force." Almost belatedly, a ghost of a smile graced the Wutaian's mouth, and then and there, his entire presence was serene. Completely separate from the things he cherished most, Cloud realized, and serene only insomuch that he had accepted a perpetual waiting and denial.

"Tseng." The name came out clear, almost cold upon the air, startling the Turk visibly, if calmly, from his internal world. The blonde's face was hard, focused unwaveringly on the Wutaian. It gave no ground. "If you have something to say, say it."

The Turk gazed at him in silence. Moments passed and eventually the former leader of Avalanche began to turn away. Whatever he had expected the Wutaian to do, he had not done it. A rustle stirred the trees and Cloud half-consciously recognized it as the presence of wind. Without warning next, a slight tap on his head made him glance up. He blinked softly as another invisible tap hit his cheekbone. Lowering his face, he did not look again as the identified culprit continued to increase in frequency steadily. It had begun raining.

Suddenly a different sensation struck him: the grip of a hand on his shoulder, fingers digging with holding pressure into his skin; a rise in temperature, cold damp air dispelled by a larger solid form—Tseng's chest against his—barely there, not even touching, yet so present as to feel that it was; a subtle rush of darkness, the black hair framing Tseng's face glancing over his own, stroking his neck as it moved against it and came to rest there, a thick and heavy veil of unwoven ebony scented like the rain and a thin strain of evergreens; the softness that sent electric alarums through his captive lips, meeting and holding the full body of Tseng's explanatory, honest mouth against his own, more out of shock than any churning, feral feeling rising in the pit of his stomach. It lasted…and then it broke like a gasp.

In the next instant, the blonde had one hand on Tseng's opposite shoulder, and with the other wedged flat against the Turk's chest, it took only a little effort to wrench the Turk off him, thrusting him backwards onto the wet grass with a loud thump. His hands in place, holding Tseng down with force and he himself positioned half over the Wutaian, Cloud's face was clear of violence. Not anger, not even bewilderment clouded his countenance, and in the momentary pause of silence between them, Tseng's own eyes gazed up at his, direct and blameless. Guilt for these two men, who knew how much to carry it, was in neither of their expressions. Cloud's eyes, staring down into Tseng's, shone with a vibrancy the Turk had seen on only one past stream of occasions.

He spoke, long hair a skewed mess in the wet grass, falling away from the steady face, his voice barely above a murmur. "It was with those eyes you used to look at Zack."

Slightly, almost unnoticeably, the blonde's shoulders shifted. "I found out a secret," he responded, his words nearly a breath. There was a flicker in his eyes that was undefined and growing stronger.

"What?" the Turk asked softly. He was unmoving as patience and ease filled him with the same unnamed trust that gave him the ability to hold perfectly still under the other man's grasp. Under the powerful serenity carrying over from the blonde, he would have done many things.

The response was gentle, somewhat triumphant, and warm. "You used to, too."

The rain fell. Even with Cloud above him, little droplets kept finding their way onto Tseng's face. Slowly, they were both becoming drenched. Faintly, Tseng's mouth shifted to hint at and then finally reveal a smile. "Yes," he said warmly, his eyes burning with a brief white fire, and it was clear he was proud of the fact and held no shame in admitting it.

A little quieter, Cloud spoke again. "And the others…." He trailed off.

"Always if not often on my mind." A soft blink broke the stillness of the Wutaian's face, and he seemed to dwell on something else a moment before continuing gently. "I still talk to them on occasion." Cloud did not respond, his eyes remaining on the Turk's. Tseng considered the blonde's silence and then said, "They listen."

Without a separate motion, Cloud smiled. "They do," he confirmed. "They talk, too." When Tseng let out a slow breath and closed his eyes, the smile faded from Cloud's face. Gently, however, it reappeared on the Turk's.

"It sounds like them."

Even as the words left him, the blonde leaned down to pause any further speech in the Wutaian. The thin crescent of silver that had begun to appear as Tseng's eyes opened stilled. It wavered, and then slowly shut, disappearing willingly. The touch that had graced him before, now met him. The soft, always faintly expressive lips plied his with unrushed pressure, angled against his mouth and cusped them with each shift. Higher, lower, stealing breath as he spread the Turk's lips, as he sucked, leaving a bare scrape of teeth and a ghosted bite before parted mouths were filled. The glance of tongue over incisors, canines. The rush of an abrupt breath exhaled through his nostrils. The startling touch of their tongues together sending a hard, heated jolt through both of them, so that the first careful slip of their encounter engendered a sudden break. Cloud pulled back, eyes opening just enough to see comfortably. The Turk's breath had grown quietly shallow, barely there to be heard, as normal, but the flicker of some unnamed look in his eyes as they too opened, gazing directly up into the blonde's, evoked everything he wanted to know.

"Cloud." The voice from below him was the voice of a man who was used to authority, who had not yet realized he had relinquished it. He would rectify this.

His response was low; an unbroken utterance that would allow nothing but pure acceptance. Yet, he was gentle. "No, Tseng."

There was a shimmer in the silver irises as they refused to leave his. Words rushed there, voiceless and full, playing for the blonde a world of emotions, of arguments, of objections…. Of concerns…of worries…of the deepest empathy that had been too long bleached by tears—those shed, and not. A desire rose in him, and without warning, Cloud leaned down once more and rested his lips upon the Wutaian's. "If the past is the past, then let it stay there," he spoke and the eyes that were like the changing clouds and rain began to smile. Steadily the Turk's mouth followed his eyes, and a laugh escaped onto Cloud's lips.

"Forgive me," the Turk said with genuine warmth, eyes shining behind the stormy gray.

Cloud let out a light sound of disbelief and let his smile be the first part of his answer. "I already have," he told him smoothly, letting the gliding of his lips over Tseng's wet ones conclude. Cloud's hand, so long holding Tseng in place, curled its fingers into his soaked shirt, gripping it with increased tightness as his lips merged with the parted mouth of the Turk. Surprise, as their tongues gradually met and moved to cover and consume the other, to dominate and fully experience every motion, each taste, all sensations from the jagged edge of teeth to the push to go in further. Surprise in every new feeling became the freedom to want them, to increase in depth, in strength and pressure, to demand and give and take.

Cloud's other hand slid off Tseng's shoulder, planted firmly into the slick grass beside the Turk's head, tangling into the glossy black hair that spilled there languidly, had long grown wet under the heedless rain. He leaned harder into the Turk's sculptured body, deepening the intensity of their kiss. As he did so, he shifted his knee between the Turk's legs, raising it higher until it brushed softly against the inside of his thighs. The Turk's body tensed, taut and slowly unraveling from the touch, so that beneath him every limb of the lithe form stretched, trying to work out the sensation from its muscles, yet reveling in the chemistry it had flared to life, and shifting the most minimally to again evoke what the blonde had stirred. As Cloud again lifted his leg, pushing his knee higher, Tseng slowly writhed with the patience to know it was not cruelty that instigated this moment, writhed with a desire to give in even this little, for he knew this was the greatest expression of his gratitude and care for the blonde man above him. The blonde whose life had been made possible by his mistakes and accomplishments, as a result of his choices. 'When I first met you…,' he thought with tenderness, and did not conceal the shudder, nor the soft gasp that broke from him as their mouths parted and Cloud ground his knee with some gentleness where Tseng had not expected him ever to claim.

Breathless to some extent, both soaked through to dripping, when pause was taken by them Cloud eased his leg from between the Turk's, knowing full well no part did they desire to enact there this darkening evening. Still, faintly did Tseng's fluid and perceptive smile, suddenly given, touch him with a half-formed, vague discovery of what having gone further would have brought. And the Turk did not try to quell the expression, breaking their long stare by shaking his head with leisurely insight. "I have often wanted to be this close to you." The blonde turned his head and focused his gaze back on Tseng's overt, unconcealed face. Yet still parts were shrouded, flooded with thought and the fresh experience of the novel. "Why didn't you try?" Cloud asked, considering and dismissing the idea that arose. The Wutaian did not answer, and the open guilt in his face hardened into the assumption of responsibility. Though he placed blame on no one but himself, Cloud continued in the other's silence, giving no ground to pity, "You're a fool."

"Very probably," the Turk agreed, a faint glint of humor amongst the frankness and understanding of his gaze.

Cloud searched his eyes, saying with the ease of confidence in his even words, "You're no fool," ignoring the contradiction he had made.

Tseng understood, however, the younger man's words. "We all did what we said we had to do," he told the once-leader of Avalanche. Then his eyes flickered, maybe with regret, maybe not. More, perhaps, with longing. But it was wistful and fled behind the clouds of his irises swiftly, and once more did he focus on the blonde. "Half of my choices are still that. Each is mixed with desire, my own, now. Yet, I did have this tendency to forget…." As the Turk trailed off, the blonde atop him lowered his eyelids, waiting with enough patience not to interrupt the man, but could not keep the words from forming in his gaze. Tseng caught the look, glanced aside, and smiled. Surrender was in the calm, small curve of his lips. "I forgot my choices were my own, outside this realm of politics and infrastructure." Cautiously, as though unsure what the other man's reaction might be, he brought his eyes back to Cloud's, a wolf carefully slipping from the protective underbrush, into the sight of a potential rival. "Have I not mended this?" he asked suddenly, the words coming out into the air as though pushed heavily, from amidst the stew of many thoughts kept long out of sight.

"No," the blonde said simply, allowing no argument. With what swiftness it was spoken, Tseng could not feign the reaction that began to flicker in his eyes: the indelible silence that was the quiet hope of a further answer, unable to accept—unwilling to just so—the answer he had been given. But his eyes tendered softer as a slight hardness in the former Avalanche leader's face caught his attention. Abruptly, the shift of the blonde's hand by his head made him aware of the consciousness of the decision Cloud had made…long before the backs of his fingers touched, almost delicately, the cheek of the Turk's face. In the permissive quietude, Tseng's eyelids drifted shut under the slow caress of Cloud's hand over his hardened countenance. The blonde, however, frowned faintly at this. "Tseng," he called, rousing the Turk from his silence. "Yes, Cloud?" the words—breathed with sudden tiredness—concerned the blonde, and yet brought a soft chuckle almost upon his lips before he knew he'd dropped it. Now the Turk's eyes opened curiously, shimmering with intrigue at this confusion of messages they both had begun to stumble in and share after the clarity of before. The blonde however, did not say a word.

Suddenly, with the swiftest liberty he had taken yet, the hand upon the Wutaian's face fell and swept fully into the thick of the Turk's black hair. In the next instant, a quiet expulsion of breath voluntarily fell from Tseng's lips, his eyes locked in one position, gleaming with a tumultuous miracle of emotions, seeing nothing. He had been pulled, had moved with Cloud as he sat back on his heels. This…he had not expected. The warmth of the blonde, former Avalanche leader's body; the slightly damp, soft texture of cloth against the side of his face; the way in which his breath suddenly caught as he inhaled, tasted the scent of this man perpetually in motion, on the road, never often in one place…now cradling him in the strong, secure embrace of…of…. Against his will, against judgment and losing sight of all else in the vibrant recognition of this grasp, as Cloud knelt with legs on either side of his, and held his head against his chest, one hand tenderly holding the back of it as the other wrapped around his shoulders, Tseng felt the sting of gratitude shatter his defenses in a way he did not know possible. To be thus embraced…like a father to son….

The Turk choked off the thought, eyes wavering even more violently. "It's alright, Tseng." Softly, the hand pulled out from his dark mane, and watching the motions of Cloud's arm through a blur in his vision, the silver storm was lost, eyelids closed under the weight of the same hand, slowly stroking the Wutaian's hair. It was a gift he readily received, the gentle inclination of his head, rubbing his face slightly, delicately against the blonde's chest, accompanied by the fullest relief he had experienced in…a great many years. "It wasn't easy on any of us," the voice softly spoke, some unfinished thought continued aloud. Faintly, almost as though uncertain of whether to utter them into existence, the Wutaian responded. "This has made it easier." The arm of the blonde tightened around him, until a tender voice again spoke from above Tseng's reposed form. "I hoped it would." Slowly, turning his head so that Cloud's hand fell from his hair, the Turk lifted his own arm, folding it around the back of the former Avalanche leader and, leaning forward to press his lips to the dark, soaked fabric, kissed the chest of the man who had walked out as far on a ledge as he had himself. No words passed between them, but they no longer needed them so dearly as they once had.

It was with smoothness and a warm breath that at last the Wutaian pulled himself from the embrace of the blonde. Cloud, for his part, gazed at the man with a look of thinly veiled concern, yet found it easing from his countenance as the Turk met his vivid blue eyes with his own, and in their stormy depths, read nothing but still-same unanswered questions, patiently awaiting their fulfillment. He was just able to conceal and check the desire to not allow the Turk's easy retreat before a wry, almost chastising sentence dropped from the man's lips. "With how long this has kept us, it'll be stunning if we're not both sick in bed with pneumonia come tomorrow." Cloud narrowed his eyes at the Leader of the Turks and forbade the roll of his eyes in favor of a dry sigh. Still, the man had sense in him, and so he obliged the Wutaian, pushing himself up and moving off of the other man. In a moment, he was on his knees and then had raised himself to his feet, at last forsaking the ground in delight of the maleable, rain-filled air. "Here," he said and held out his hand to the Turk, face calm and clear for all the curiosity that swam with renewed vigor in his mind. Yet the queries held tediously between both of them remained unanswered for the time. Likewise, it was not in Tseng's nature to deny such a gesture as Cloud's hand was held out for him, and really, what good would it do, the Turk thought, to lay on the earth only to be washed away slowly by the downpour? It was slowly that he grasped the blonde's outstretched hand, revering its meaning and sitting up fully as he did so, tightened his grip as the other helped pull him to his feet, at last too freeing him from the trap he now was not sure who had set for whom.

He had barely been standing a second before the true answer came…the honest face of the single-word response to his pliant, hurting question. Cloud's form, so newly familiar, was at his side, leaning close, voice tumbling with softly strung lullabies that gave more away than even the words. "As to fixing things…completely…. You can make it up later," he felt spoken in his ear, and turned with surprise to him that had spoken it. But the blonde's face had turned serious, and held in it the unshatterable look of a feigned disinterest that made him almost coy, half-humored at his own proposal. The expression touched the eyes, the faintly twisted corner of Cloud's lips, and Tseng's own expression broke and softened, curiosity and warmth alone his mixture. As Cloud turned from the Turk then, walking a step to bend and pick up Tseng's long discarded jacket again he said, "Here," and the soaked garment was tossed the arm's length between them, caught in the Turk's hands readily.

Distantly, and for the second time again that day, the rumble of thunder was heard overhead. Already soaked through near every article of clothing, the additional warning held not the significance it otherwise might have. With a gentle touch, the hand of the Wutaian Leader of the Turks, rested on his companion's arm, stepping ahead and waiting for the blonde to soon mimic his direction. In this way was Cloud leisurely guided back to Fenrir. "I have just one question, Cloud," the words came, comfortable, natural in their shared presence. "Mm?" the blonde intoned, examining and then standing still by his motorcycle, ready now whenever he chose to depart. But this forerunner to a query drew his eyes once more to Tseng's, and he saw in there a bashfulness and tenderly self-deprecating humor like the Turk was sometimes wont to. He would have instantly narrowed his own gaze in disapproval even if he had not heard the question first, so when the black-haired man, a smile caught in his expression, asked, "Do you think we deserve it?" Cloud could not refuse frowning.

Had not in the next moment the Turk leader stepped forward, taking abruptly into his grips the blonde male, and stifled the very look he had put on his face, Cloud would have been a strand from insult, regardless of the other man's honesty. But there were, in fact, no words that expressed the truth of Tseng's feelings, nor mirrored his own, like this parting kiss. The press of the slightly taller man's mouth to his, and the elegance of its gentleness, but still firm reassurance…the soft way it inquired and took permission, stole from him every awkward instance between then and now…these were the qualities that made his tenseness give way, and the flurry of life reclaim his mind after the shallowness that had come at the unvoiced, but hinted necessity of their parting. It was in the way he held him, by the arms, but secured him, pushing him back just a little to lean against the steady Fenrir that indulged their parting sentiments, made without need for words. It was in the manner that Tseng pressed his full body there against him, yet so lightly as to be almost a ghost…a whispered dream of what he could not now have, but could….

Then their mouths left, and the gentle but firm grip of Tseng lingered on one arm—the arm with the Ribbon tied still securely—the arm where now again the back of a hand grazed once it had released its hold. "I would rather you took care of yourself, than suffered by staying here," were the words Tseng next spoke, and there was admonition and play in their notes. "Go on," the Turk urged warmly now, his eyes filled with the silent white fire Cloud had seen burning at the recognition and mention of Zack in their lives. It brought a loose, almost concealed smile to the blonde's face. "And where's your ride hidden?" he asked, even as he mounted his sorely abused bike, casting his gaze back up to the Turk who now glanced out once more over the plains, to the hills. "Somewhere where you'll see it," the Leader of the Turks replied loosely, reaching down to pick up from the ground the jacket he had dropped at some point after Cloud had lifted and returned it to him. "I, however, will be dry in mine, so I suggest you leaving before my unperturbed mood becomes harsher." Cloud chuckled lowly, almost under his breath at the comment. His mediterranean eyes caught the storm silver of the dark-haired man's once more. Under his hands, the engine of Fenrir suddenly revved to life, content once again to be under its master's guidance and perhaps the sole one eager to leave behind the rain and wilderness. A second passed, and Cloud turned his head away, looking forward to the way 'home,' and was struck suddenly by a thought.

"Tseng, I don't have your number," he said pointedly, testing the waters to see whether the Turk would give on this point. But the Wutaian simply turned his head completely back to the former leader of Avalanche and smiled knowingly, for this instant, regaining a semblance of control while it was allowed him.

"That's alright," he said seamlessly. "I know yours."

A smile caught the blonde's lips, tangible like the promise that had been left on them. He laughed, warmly and openly before the other man. "Don't wait too long to call."

"How about when I get home?"

A softer smile shared between them both.

"That works."


End file.
